dochermes

"SIRION I: Lost Lightning"

7/2024


I.

Early in the morning in Wappingers Falls, New York. Nothing was open in the Sunset Mall, even the formerly twenty-four hour Price Chopper had cut its hours back. A separate white brick building sat at the end of the strip, the People's Credit Union. At one-thirty AM, a brief flash of deep red light burst near the back of that building and a thin young boy walked around toward the drive-through window.

Maybe twelve years old, no more than five feet six and with the straight sticklike arms and legs of pre-puberty, the boy was wearing tight blue tunic and pants, with odd red leather boots and gloves. In one hand, he dangled a mundane plastic shopping bag. Shaggy black hair had not been cut in quite a while.

Stepping up to the ATM and dropping the bag, the boy grinned insolently up at the camera. Then, as easily as peeling off slices of warm pizza, he tore the ATM open with his hands. He threw metal parts aside, digging deeper until he was reaching into the receptable where the cash was stored. With no particular urgency, the boy threw handfuls of bills into the shopping bag. No audible alarm sounded, no lights flashed, but certainly the local police were getting an urgent signal at that moment.

The boy was laughing gleefully. He paused as he saw headlights approaching from the other end of the mall. He spun and, with the slightest of crouches, leaped twenty feet in the shadows. A minute later, a tan Nissan Sentra swung around toward the drive-through lane and stopped as the driver saw the wreckage scattered along the ground.

II.


Before the meeting began, Sable had set up four laptops on the long oak table. A dozen of them were kept on hand in case the entire team assembled at any one time, and one of the duty watch officer's duties was checking that they were all charged. At the head of the table, she took her chair and opened her own computer. Lauren Sable Reilly had been captain of the KDF for twenty-four years, more than half her life. While she wasn't tired of the responsibility yet, she had been gradually taking less of an active role in missions. The younger and more enthusiastic members were more than ready to rush out on what they saw as adventures.

In her mid-forties, Sable's face had matured in a handsome oval with unstressed authority in the dark eyes. The thick black hair, brushed straight back off a high forehead, added to the air of seriousness she always showed. She dressed more formally than her teammates in general did. In a pearl grey pantsuit with a cream-colored blouse and a thin silver chain under her collar, she would have been accepted as professional in any office setting.

Not so the first two members to arrive in the doorway. Jocelyn Garimara was in casual black slacks and a bright yellow jersey that went well with her dark skin. Close behind her was Timothy Limbo in his inevitable uniform of biker boots, worn-out jeans and white T-shirt under a new black leather jacket. His teammates teased him until he wore a different outfit once in a while.

As they settled into their chairs, the third on-duty member entered and sat down. Frank Mills was a tall man in a business suit, wearing a look of calm thoughtfulness on an unremarkable face. The Trom joined his teammates in opening his laptop and logging into Skype.

"Our team is really scattered right now," Sable began. "Let's see. Galvan is in Androval for a few days, he has to take care of his estate. Sheng and Josef are busy on their own missions, I don't want to recall them unless circumstances get serious. Okay, our other three are coming onscreen. What's your situations, guys?"

Everyone's monitors had split-screened to show three faces in separate boxes. Answering first was a small white-haired woman with a pugnacious resting face. "Hello, everyone," said Demrak Jin. "I am home with Pol. He's sleeping right now. If you need me, I can call Mrs Prescott to babysit."

"Thanks, Jin. Carlo, how are you doing?"

The gaunt face of Carlo Ventura smiled slightly. "I'm back home upstate, visiting with friends I haven't seen in a while. It's my off-day but of course I am on call. If necessary, I will return to headquarters at once."

Sable said, "Thanks for standing by. And that leaves Unicorn."

The piquant little face of a platinum blonde wearing oversized mirrored sunglasses blinked into view on the screen. "Hey there! Something big has definitely been eating goats here on Mykronos. I see a pattern. As a side benefit, the Greek sun is turning me a luscious golden brown."

"Okay. I'll make sure your next assignment is in Juneau, Alaska, Ashley. Now, let's all watch this footage. It's from two security cameras at a credit union up in Wappingers Falls."

Everyone studied the surreal events, then watched them again at half-speed. Finally, Timothy exhaled sharply. "I have no idea who or what that kid is."

"The image is not detailed enough for me to be certain," Frank Mills said, "But I believe he is a young Melgar. The facial bone structure is characteristic, and his clothing resembles an Androval arena uniform."

"Yeah, bright red boots and gloves for young guys aren't exactly in style," Jocelyn added. "But, you know, even though Melgarin are stronger than Human, they're not THAT strong. He ripped that ATM apart awful easily. And he jumped away like a grasshopper."

Sable gestured at Timothy Limbo with a command gesture. "Tim, use an Eldanar travel crystal and go to Androval. Find Galvan and ask him to come back here. I think our tentative conclusion merits that. If he's too tied up with his boundary dispute, see if Sulak or Valera are around. We need a powerhouse."

"We need some kind of phone or radio to talk to the adjacent realms," Tim complained.

"It'd be convenient for sure," Sable agreed.

"I'm on my way." Timothy stood up and headed out of the room.

"Frank and Jocelyn, that leaves you two to go to the scene. The Duchess County police sent us the video with the usual disclaimer about not involving civilians. So they're not going to be much help."

Jocelyn scoffed and folded her arms. "Never are. They give us just enough to make us curious. They know we're going to investigate. Bloody wankers. They're just using us."

"You've got a point," Sable said. "But honestly, we're Tel Shai knights. We'd fight the Midnight War even if we were fugitives and the police were actively chasing us."

"Hey, guys? I think I see something," said Ashley's voice. "Everybody play the video again. Okay. Freeze it now! There, by the corner of the bank. Is that a man standing there?"

After a few seconds, they all agreed. They had been concentrating on the boy ripping apart the ATM and had missed a vague figure in the shadows.

"All I can make out is he's pretty tall, maybe six three, and there's a lighter color patch on the front," Ashley said. "Captain, how about your microscopic eyes? I know you can identify pollen by sight."

"Not much use with this," Sable admitted. "The data isn't there for me to see. I do think there's the same shade of lighter material on his head. Possibly white hair and a beard."

Frank Mills shook his head. "I can only enhance the image slightly. It's a poor quality camera with inadequate light."

"But it does help," Sable went on. "We can keep in mind the boy is working with an adult. A tall man with white hair and beard. That's useful."

"I do such good work, even from thousands of miles away," Ashley said with a straight face.

"Yes, Unicorn, you're wonderful," Jocelyn grumbled. "Someday you'll meet someone who loves you as much as you do."

"Hey!"

"ANYway..." Sable continued. "I want Frank and Jocelyn to drive up to the scene this afternoon and start investigating. You are two of our most powerful members but be cautious if you confront the suspect. I know it sounds odd, warning a Trom and the Red Spectre host about a preteen boy, but we've seen what he can do. I don't want you to end up like that ATM."

( the rest of the story )

"When the Trumpets Fall Silent"

9/6-9/8/2015

I

For nearly a hundred years, the ten-story stone building on East 38th Street had seen many strange and even bizarre figures walk up to its front door. This pleasant September evening at exactly midnight, it saw yet another one. People stepped aside on the sidewalk not from apprehension but from sympathy, thinking that here was an elderly man afflicted with arthritis.

He would have been six feet tall if he had stood fully upright, but he was bent forward and leaning on a thick wooden cane. A long white coat hanging loosely from his shoulders disguised how powerful that broad body was, how thickly muscled the long arms and short bow legs must be. Clench wore a wide-brimmed slouch hat pulled low. His immense feet wore shoes that had to have been handmade. Ignoring stares, he moved easily up the six steps in front of a door that read "KDF 28" and pressed the bell.

Seconds later, a reserved female voice came through a speaker behind a panel over the door, "Hello there. can we help you?"

"Hello, I'm Clarence Ambrose. Clench?"

"Oh sure. Just a minute."

With buzzes and clicks that suggested multiple alarms and locks being turned off, the massive door swung outward on its own. The man who had called himself Clench stepped into a small vestibule which contained only a bench with a few magazines on it, a wall lamp and a life-sized oil portrait of a middle-aged gnomish man. The tab beneath read, KENNETH DRED 1900-1979.

Laying his cane on the bench, he shrugged off the coat and placed it down as well.
Immediately, Clench dropped to stand with his weight supported on stiff arms with his fists pressed down on the floor. This posture looked entirely reasonable for someone built that way. Simian comparisons were inevitable. The strange man looked as if he would weigh nearer three hundred pounds than two hundred, but he was not fat. His body and limbs seemed solid muscle. He was wearing loose navy blue sweatpants and an equally baggy sweatshirt that was canary yellow with blue side panels His oversized hands and feet were bare. The man had a wide, homely face under a thick thatch of light brown hair but his expression was amiable enough.

As he sighed with relief at not having to stand upright, Clench cocked his head. All around him sounded a deep, nearly subliminal hum. His skin tingled. Was he being X-rayed? Then the inner door swung open toward him and he swung around. Standing in the doorway were two women and a man.

Timothy Limbo he had met a month earlier. A bit under six feet tall and fit looking, the blond young man was wearing a plain white T-shirt, worn out jeans and biker boots. To his left was a dark-haired woman about forty, arms folded across her chest, watching him with a cold appraising gaze.

But it was the other woman that got his full attention. She was tiny, not much over five feet tall and thin, wearing a tight suit of grey shark-hide. Under short bristly white hair, cloudy dark blue eyes glared at him as if she was eager to attack. The woman slapped the flat of a long bone-bladed knife against one palm, which did not make her less threatening.

"Hey there," said Clench hopefully. "Sorry to drop in so late, but someone told me you guys are mostly active late at night and so many lights were on in the windows, so..."

"Oh, I remember YOU," Timothy interrupted. "As soon as we met, you kicked me in the head and kidnapped me!"

"Well, yeah, but let's not live in the past," the apelike man replied. "So, about why I'm here, maybe we can sit down to talk about it."

"I'm Sable, captain of this team," said the dark-haired woman. "Stand down, Jin. i don't think our visitor is any immediate threat."

Reluctantly, scowling all the time, Demrak Jin slid her weapon into a flat ivory sheath across her back. "Whatever you say," she growled.

Sable moved forward a step. "Adrenalin levels in your perspiration and your heartbeat are only slightly elevated. Muscle tension is normal, as are your pupils. I'm sure you didn't come here to attack us."

"You're puttin' me on," Clench said. "How do you know all that?"

"We all have our gifts. All right, come on in and tell us what's on your mind."

Escorted warily by all three KDF members, Clench loped in his unusual way across the front hall, past the wide staircase leading up, through an open door into the conference room. To the right, a desk sat against a wall under a gorgeous hand-painted map of the world as it had been in 1937. A long, brown leather couch sat in the middle of the room, with six simple wooden chairs scattered about. Against the far wall to the left was a chest high bookcase filled with reference books and on its top a coffee pot with accessories and a tray of Danishes. The air was cool and dry, the lighting subdued.

"Have a seat facing the couch," Sable offered. "Mr Ambrose, you should be aware we have no reason to be cordial. I annotated the report that Timothy filed when he got back from his...encounter."

"True, true," Clench replied. "Sorry about all that. You know my family is, well, maybe you could call us mutants. Except instead of stray genes changing naturally, we were changed by our mother's sorcery. She WAS a head witch of Red Sect, after all."

"And..." interrupted Timothy, "She ordered me abducted to stage a fake marriage and wanted me to get her pregnant! And she's seventy years old!"

Clenched waved a broad hairy hand dismissively. "I thought we were past all that."

"What are you TALKING about?! 'Past all that'...?"

"Timothy, stand down," said Sable. "Take a seat. We have to be professional. Mr Ambrose, we'll hear you out."

"Fair enough, fair enough," the visitor said. "Ahem. Anyway, my family left the area recently. Grandma wanted to get a fresh start out West. But I decided to stay here. I've heard an awful lot of wild stories about the Kenneth Dred Foundation. You're knights of Tel Shai. Everyone says you're the greatest heroes the Midnight War had ever seen."

"And...?" asked Sable.

"Look at me, ma'am. You can imagine it's hard for me to get a regular job. When I go to apply anywhere, they all hide in the back. But I do have powers and abilities far beyond those of mortal men--"

"Oh, brother," Tim groaned.

"I looked up records. I'm more than twice as strong as the record-holding weightlifter. I'm nimble and agile as an acrobat or Olympic gymnast. My toes are prehensile enough to tie and untie knots. I have a lot to offer."

"Wait," said Sable, "You're not saying...?"

"You bet, I want to join the KDF."

( Read more... )

"Squid Attack Squad"

4/6-4/7/2023

I.

Few helicopters would have been cleared to fly during such a storm. Even the US Coast Guard would have weighed the risk to a crew against any rescue mission. And for a flight intended for only research purposes, no copter would have launched into the heavy rain and gale force winds over Long Island Sound that night.

But the CORBY was like no craft available to any Human nation or organization. Sleek and sharklike in its contours, the black stealthcraft tore through the downpour as steadily as if it was flying on a calm summer afternoon. No visible lights showed. With its radar alignment systems working, the CORBY was as good as invisible in the darkness as it sped over the northern coastline.

At the combined cyclic/collective stick, the Trom who called himself Frank Mills kept his eyes moving constantly. From the row of small monitors screens showing views from all sides of the CORBY to the luminous windscreen which worked with both light enhancement and ultra-violet projectors to the sonar pulses lancing down into the black waters a thousand feet below, he saw everything he wanted to.

In the co-pilot seat, Demrak Jin shifted her weight irritably. Patience had never been one of her strong points. At first, she seemed to be only a rather short, thin woman with a wide flat face and sullen dark blue eyes. But further scrutiny of the stiff bristly white hair and odd facial bone structure would prove unsettling. In bright sunlight, a close examination would reveal three barely visible lines in a row on either side of her throat. These were gill slits. Demrak Jin was a Geldydra from the realm of Ulgor, a Cousin Race who were amphibious.

"I should be down there!" she abruptly cried, breaking the long silence. "That is MY element. Any monsters of the deep are my natural prey."

Mills responded with his usual bland mildness. "The sensors are probing for miles in every direction and down to a depth of three thousand feet. If any anomalies are detected, that would be the appropriate time for you to take action."

"You just don't have feelings," Jin continued. "A father and his child have been missing for the past few days. Before that, three teenage girls in their sailboat disappeared. This area is notorious for missing people. Only bits of wreckage have been recovered and you don't care."

The Trom turned his head to regard her without visible reaction to her tirade. Mills was a tall athletic man in one of the KDF black field suits. His short black hair and regular unremarkable features were offset by a pair of dark eyes that showed deep awareness and intelligence but no emotion. "I am what I was meant to be, Jin. Nothing will be gained by trying to provoke me."

"Arrrhh! I feel love! Anger! Sorrow! I have a heart. And you... you are like the cold machines you prize so highly!" she shouted right in his face.

"We are both true to our natures," Frank Mills responded in the same even tones he always used. "So far, sensors have detected nothing out of the ordinary. I intend to move closer to the shore and descend to three hundred feet. Under these conditions, we are not likely to be observed."

Folding her arms across her narrow chest, Jin scowled at the banks of pastel green and blue lights which filled the cockpit. Any one of those indicators turning red would have instantly gotten their full attention. After a long heavy silence, she grudgingly said, "You Trom say you value Human life."

"Yes," Mills answered. "We work behind the scenes in secrecy, but our goal is to improve conditions for Humans. We guide researchers to useful new discoveries and we release information conducive to reducing wars and violent crimes."

"You're not doing a very good job at that..." she grumbled.

"Events would have proceeded much more harmfully without our restrained interventions," Mills said. "As bad as history seems, it would have been much worse without the Trom pulling strings behind the scenes."

"So you say. Never mind. I am not like you, Trom. Sitting in a hard seat for six hours and circling the ocean is not what I was meant to be doing. I am a daughter of a warrior Race. Each Gelydra is born at the same time a shark hatches and the spirit of the shark lives in us!"

Instead of commenting, Mills pulled back on the stick and brought the CORBY to a hover. The pounding of the rain on the stealthcopter seemed louder because the engines were nearly silent. "Do you see that yacht tied to the dock directly below us?"

"What? Yes, of course. There is a small speedboat moored next to it."

"Watch as I enhance the sonar image."

After a few seconds, Jin hissed with an intake of breath. "Interesting. Very interesting." She unbuckled her restraint straps. "I will take a look."

"Let me extend the pontoons and land first," Mills said but he was speaking to an open hatch as Demrak Jin dove out into the darkness. Straight down three hundred feet she plunged, to punch down through the surface with hardly a splash. A normal Human would have been killed hitting water from that height, but the Gelydran womam took such a feat for granted.

Without showing any exasperation at his partner's impatience, Mills pressed a few buttons that extended the pontoons he had attached that afternoon and descended to a textbook perfect landing on the uneven surface of choppy waters. The advanced Trom impulse engines were still on, keeping the craft from capsizing or drifting. From behind his seat, he unhooked a helmet and fastened its lower seals to the high collar of his field suit. He had earlier fastened a short metal cylinder across his shoulder blades above the round disc of the gravity shield. When he lowered the helmet's visor, a fifteen minute oxygen supply would kick in.

His final action before exiting was to switch on the three running lights on the CORBY's lower hull where they could be seen from beneath the surface. Then, as smoothly as if he had practicing this all his life, Frank Mills dove out into the darkness of Long Island sound. The hatch slid shut behind him.

( the rest of the story )

TIGER NATION III

2/21/2022

I.

"In a way, we are helping Mankind," Baron Shogren told the twenty-four monsters assembled in front of his beach house. Arrayed in a loose semi-circle on the white sand, they looked at first to be an assortment of normal men, all in their thirties and forties, all wearing casual clothing. At the moment, their teeth were not fangs and their fingernails were not claws.

Shogren's harmless appearance was also deceptive. Even to a suspicious eye, he seemed to be an unremarkable Asian of medium height, with the full head of glossy hair and smooth skin of a young man. But he had looked like that for more than one hundred and forty years. The Baron retained a distinct Norweigian accent which provided an incongruous clash with his apparent ethnic background. Egil Shogren had been delving beyond the borders of rational scientific research for a long time.

Standing slightly behind him was a woman of college age, her long curly black hair falling down her back. She wore a white lab smock identical to hers. While Shogren was addressing his creations, she kept silent but a smug smile played around the corners of her mouth.

Facing his Tigermen, he continued, "Nature tries to provide a balance. When predators become too numerous, there aren't enough prey animals to support the numbers. When prey animals become too numerous, the food supply isn't sufficient to support the numbers. The balance is always restored but the human race has ruined that balance where it is concerned."

From the crowd, a sullen voice spoke up. "Get to the point, boss."

"Mankind has eliminated all the animals who would be its natural predators. The cave bears, the sabertooths, the terror birds have all vanished. Even tigers only survive in tiny numbers, unable to keep human populations down. Look at the results. The planet is staggering under the weight of billions of people. It's not a question of whether worldwide famine will kill the population of entire continents, it's a question of when!"

Short barking laughs sounded from several of the Tigermen. They could not keep themselves from shifting their weights from one foot to the other or pacing a few steps back and forth. One said, "Hah. But that doesn't take US into account, does it?"

"No, it does not." Baron Shogren folded his arms across his chest and smiled at his creations. "You twenty-four are only the first wave. When the Zhune artifact has had time to recharge, I will finalize your transformations and then you will be transported to widely scattered places all over the world. Other waves will follow. Within a year, hundreds of you will be hunting and terrorizing everywhere on Earth. The domination of Homo Sapiens will end and, I ask you, what will replace it?"

"Tiger Nation," responded one of the creatures.

"Again. Louder. What will replace the human race?"

"TIGER NATION!" they all roared in voices too deep for normal throats to produce. "TIGER NATION!"

"That's right," said Baron Shogren. "Nothing can stop it at this point."

II.

The short slender form of Demrak Jin shot straight up fifteen feet out of the ocean like a missile fired from a submarine. She landed lightly on her feet, keeping her balance, glaring up and down the beach but finding no enemies on hand.

Jeremy Bane watched this without surprise. He had witnessed her exiting the water that way many times before. Dressed all in black as usual, slacks and turtleneck and jacket, the Dire Wolf stopped his restless pacing and went over to join her. "Feel better now?"

"Yes, captain. I needed that." The Gelydra woman stood several inches shorter than Bane's six foot height. Her short bristly white hair, surly dark blue eyes and a wide flat face made her appearance distinctive. Jin wore tight tunic and pants of grey sharkhide with the abrasive denticles on the outside. Strapped across her back was the sword she had crafted herself, a two foot long bone blade. "I am a sea creature, after all."

"I know," Bane said absently, gazing out at the horizon. "It was a long flight out here."

Demrak Jin studied his expression. Since Megan's death, he had become more subdued and impassive than usual. This had surprised her. She had expected the Dire Wolf to be furious, to be aching to go after the strange cult responsible for her demise. But now she realized he was hiding his feelings behind that unreadable poker face that had served him so well the first twenty years of his life.

Jin finally said, "I wish my Galvan could have come with us. We three could cut through any army."

"Yes." Bane straightened up and turned as if noticing her for the first time that day. "Sable has a good policy. She doesn't want you and Galvan out on a mission at the same time. If something happened to you both, it would leave your little boy an orphan."

"Captain.." she began before hesitating. This was so unusual for a person who was blunt past the point of rudeness that Bane wondered what was bothering her. "I know you are much faster than a normal Human. And you are a Master of Kumundu, perhaps THE Master after Teacher Chael himself. But I saw a four-legged tiger charge with my own eyes, two years ago in India, and I could not have fought it. Against these Tigermen, perhaps many of them, will you be outmatched?"

For the first time, an edge came into Bane's voice, "We'll find out."

"I did not mean to offend."

"It's okay, Jin. All of us have our emotions running close to the surface right now. Let's get going."

The Gelydra nodded and went over to drop down on the sand where she had left her boots. By this stage in her life, her feet had lengthened several inches beyond normal length and the webbing between her toes was evident. Her boots had to be specially made for her. "There. I am ready, captain, shall we leave now?"

"Okay." Bane swung around and headed for where the CORBY waited. The black stealthcopter had no identifying numbers or logos on its sleek sinister hull. When in flight, it displayed no lights and its Trom systems realigned any radar that might pick it up. The KDF copter might as well have been invisible. They had left the pilot and co-pilot hatches open because when those doors closed, they automatically locked and the alarms armed themselves.

Pulling the restraint straps down diagonally across his body, Bane said, "Monitors look good. All status lights green and blue. The impulse engines haven't had time to cool down yet."

"I don't see any reason why we can't take off now," added Jin.

The Dire Wolf closed his hand around the combined cyclic/collective stick between them. After the rotors got up to speed and they had risen ten feet up off the ground, he retracted the three landing wheels. "We think Shogren has a base somewhere in this afrea but there's a lot of territory to search. Hopefully we'll track down these Tigermen today."

"I can't wait!" the Gelydra spat with sudden intensity. "None of them will live to boast of our friend's death, I swear it!"


III.

Getting into the elevator, Lauren Sable Reilly buttoned the front flap of her Navy blue blazer and tugged the garment down where it had ridden up. "I don't know what we're going to do with the prisoner. We can't keep him here forever and it's a bad idea to turn him over to Department 21 Black. The FBI's special department doesn't need to learn how to combine tiger and Human DNA. They know too many Midnight War secrets as it is."

Standing next to her, Carlo Rivera held the Eyeless Helmet in the crook of his left arm. Although his clothes were casual, mundane white sneakers and jeans with a bright yellow longsleeved jersey, they were the gold and white emblem colors of the Sorcerer of Truth. The longer he used the helmet, the more somber and philosphical he became. "I think he is a problem that will solve itself."

She raised one eyebrow. "I hope you're right. You always seem to know more than you're telling. We'll discuss it with Jeremy after this campaign is over. To tell you the truth, I'm a little surprised he took this Tigerman alive to be questioned. I seriously expected him to, well, go on a vendetta and wipe them out."

"He is determined not to lose control of himself," Carlo said as they reached the eighth floor of the KDF headquarters building. His narrow face had become positively gaunt, with the cheekbones prominent under deepset eyes and he seemed older than his meager twenty-one years. "When we had our meeting last night, I could perceive it. These decades of Tel Shai study have not been in vain. Our captain has reached a better understanding of himself than what most people ever glimpse."

The elevator slid open to reveal a wide hall marked only by plain wooden doors lining both sides. Overhead fluorescent lights were more subdued here than in the rest of the headquarters. "Glad to hear that, Carlo. He and Megan were closer than he is to most of our team. And, considering the sort of violent life he lived as a young man, I wouldn't have been surprised to see Jeremy go completely ruthless because of her death."

She tapped a quick code into a keypad set beside the first room. The door slid to one side into a recess with a hiss to reveal a small vestibule with nothing it but another identical door. "Time to concentrate on our task at hand," she said.

Repeating the code in a second keypad, Sable opened the inner door to a cell twenty feet to a side, lit from above by lights behind tough plastic shields. The walls and floor were lined with a slightly spongy material, gleaming white. There was a hard sleeping mat on the floor with a built-in cylindrical pillow. There was a motion-controled toilet and sink. And whirling around to face them was their prisoner.

This Tigerman seemed normal enough, a man about forty, reasonably fit but not seriously athletic-looking in the white shirt and baggy white pants they had given him when taking his own clothes away. He had unremarkable dark hair and eyes, a face notable only for a rather flat-bridged nose and eyes a strange amber color.

"Well, aren't you brave to come in here?" he mocked. "Why aren't you training AR-15s on me? Or wearing riot gear?"

Sable remained calm. "Charles Robert Benton. Age forty-one, from Louisville, Kentucky. When you were brought in, we did the equivalent of an MRI on you and ran your prints. You have no criminal record. We want to know all you can tell us about Egil Shogren and what he plans."

Benton crouched forward, grinning wickedly at them. "You'll never make me talk!"

"You will want to talk," answered Carlo Ventura as he lowered the Eyeless Helmet down over his head. Faint shimmers played over the pale gold metal of that helmet as if reflecting searchlights from far away.

Instantly, Benton changed as his teeth lengthened into sharp fangs and his fingernails extended into claws. In the next tiny fraction of a second, he would launched himself across the cell to rip both Carlo and Sable apart but he did not have that second. The helmet flared up with gorgeous golden radiance that was warmer and more comforting than sunlight. Sound dropped away and eyesight was lost in the brilliance.

When the light faded immediately afterwards, Benton had dropped to his hands and knees, head hanging down. He had become fully Human again. When he tried to get up, his legs gave way and he fell heavily. "What did you DO to me?"

"The light of Elvedal brings truth and restoration," Carlo answered, raising the helmet Sagehelm to return it to the crook of his elbow. "It undoes malevolent spells and returns beings to their rightful state. There is no essence of tiger left in your body."

"You skinny little bastard. Even without the tiger, I can still beat you black and blue." With the last word, Benton vaulted forward again, fist drawn back up by his ear and ready to swing. With exact precision, Carlo Ventura extended his free hand so its palm slammed into his attacker's chest at an angle that deflected the man's momentum. Charles Benton crashed to the floor, coughing and struggling to catch his breath.

"You do not realize what it is you challenge," Carlo continued in the same even, unhurried tone. "Where is Baron Shogren now?"

"Last I knew, he was heading for his beach house in Northern California. Right up by the border with Oregon. Why did I say that? I don't have to tell you anything. It's maybe ten, twelve miles from the town of Sholton."

"Are his Tigermen with him?" asked Sable, just as calmly as her teammate had spoken.

"Almost all of them. After you freaks killed so many of us, the boss decided to disperse everyone sooner than expected. Wait. Stop. Did you inject me with truth serum or something? You got no right to do this to me."

Carlo seemed more sad than triumphant as he bent over and met the prisoner's confused stare. "You will not recognize these words but listen. The holy Halarin have graced you with their light which shines on Elvedal, where the immortal Eldarin live. You have been cleansed."

"I am, I can feel it, but what does it mean?. I don't... I don't understand what you just said but something has changed in me. I'll help. Shogren has some misguided idea about restoring the balance of nature by introducing predators to cut down the number of people in the world. We are those predators. We are all volunteers, we fell for his ideas and we thought we would be doing good!"

"Some of the worst deeds in history came from people who thought they were doing good," added Sable.

"Speak only truth. Have you killed anyone?" asked Carlo.

"No. I wanted to but I didn't have a chance. But I see now how wrong I was, the tiger essence made me think of hot blood and warm raw flesh all the time. How could I have been so foolish?" Benton managed to stand, he looked from Carlo to Sable and back again. "Are you the police? FBI? Am I under arrest?"

Lauren Sable Reilly tilted her head as she studied him. Her enhanced perception enabled her to count his heartbeats, smell the amount of adrenalin in his trace perspiration and gauge how his pupils dilated. She believed that the Eyeless Helmet had indeed freed this man and she saw he had welcomed it. "No, we're something you have never heard of, Benton. We serve justice, not the law. I think you should rest now. A tray of food will be brought up soon. Get some sleep if you can. You're not going to be executed or imprisoned."

"I could sleep for days," Benton admitted.

"Accepting Truth is always a struggle," said Carlo as he turned back toward the door.

IV.

Hovering the CORBY at ten thousand feet, Jeremy Bane studied the monitor which showed a telescopic view. The beach house was a split-level built one hundred yards from the shore, with a deck that ran completely around it. The nearest house was over a mile away and it was also a mile to the highway which an asphalt access road led to. Parked behind the beach house were five vehicles, four cars and an SUV. Turning up the Trom sensors further, the Dire Wolf got an image sharper than what even the best Human technology could provide.

Stepping out behind the house was a man in a white smock and two bigger men who moved to flank him in classic bodyguard stances. Positive ID came a second later with green letters on the screen, EGIL SHOGREN CONFIRMED.

Finally, Bane thought. It had been two weeks since Megan had died. Every day he could not track down Shogren had been intolerable but at last now he could nail the man responsible for these Tigermen. He switched the scanners to passive infra-red. In the chilly winter scene below, a crowd of shimmering heat sources could be seen moving about inside the house. Their signatures showed metabolisms higher than what Human bodies produced.

Bane's pale grey eyes grew colder rather than angry. His face did not show what he was feeling. When he spoke into the communicator, his voice was still restrained and unemotional. "Dire Wolf to base. Sable, we've found them. I'm sending you these images. Going to attack now, Dire Wolf out." He cut the contact before Sable could reply.

Before descending, Bane activated the weapons systems. He had never ordered the CORBYs to be heavily armed because he felt that once he started adding missiles or rockets, it would be hard to stop. He had wanted to keep the copters mostly intended for transport and exploration. On the heavy vanes to either side of the cockpit, panels slid open and the muzzles of twin 30mm chain guns slid out into position. The sole gleam of red appeared on his status lights, ARMED on the weapons dial.

Dropping down as quickly as if the CORBY was falling, the Dire Wolf reached treetop level and made a pass over the rear of the beach house. He pressed the button on top of the stick and fired two quick bursts that shredded the vehicles into bits of metal which spun away. Soaring up and wheeling around, he saw that one of the cars hadn't been completely destroyed but the front right wheel was completely gone. Good enough.

From every door, Tigermen rushed out. Their wild gestures and frantic running back and forth showed clearly hoew agitated and surprised they were. Bane could have simply cut them all down within a few seconds and then raked the house with chain gun fire but instead he shut down the weapons systems and glided past the house to touch down near the water's edge.

Even as the rotors slowed, the Dire Wolf vaulted down from the cabin and strode to over to put some distance between himself and the stealthcopter. He stood facing the beach house with his boots right on the edge of the water. Feet apart and legs braced, open hands down by his sides, Bane watched as a pack of twenty-four murderous Humans with tiger DNA charged across the beach at him.

Any outsider watching the scene would have been convinced that the lone figure in black would be torn to bloody scraps in the next few seconds. And yet...

The Tigermen slowed as they drew nearer. When they were barely out of arm's reach, they stopped advancing and spread out in a semi-circle. One abruptly cried out, "I don't smell any fear!"

"Why isn't he afraid?" yelled another one, flexing his talons eagerly. "Is this a trick? Is he holding a bomb or something?"

Bane had still made no move. He waited impassively as two score of the deadly creatures surrounded him. In the grey eyes, only cold determination showed.

"I don't like this. Someone get the Baron, see what he thinks," a Tigerman muttered.

"Oh, you want Baron Shogren?" asked the Dire Wolf quietly. A second later, a limp body was hurled up from behind the pack to land on the sand with an unsettling moist thump. The front of the white lab smock was slashed open and blood had gushed out, still red and wet. Even aside from the staring eyes, there was no doubt Egil Shogren was dead.

For the next three seconds, even these ferocious monsters were paralyzed by shock and surprise. They froze where they were, staring and gaping while the sight before them sank in. Before those seconds passed, Jeremy Bane whipped the matched silver daggers from his forearm sheaths and lashed into them with a whirlwind of razor-edged blades blurring in all directions. From behind the Tigermen, swinging her bone sword furiously, Demrak Jin began cutting them down. The creatures swung around trying to figure out how they were being attacked from two directions at once.

Fierce as the Tigermen were, swift and aggressive as they might be, they were facing two fighters who had faced monsters both bigger and more dangerous. Neither Bane nor Jin stayed still long enough to be seriously hurt, they knew from experience how to maneuver their enemies into getting in each others' way. Two against more than twenty, yet the Tigermen fell in such rapid succession they seemed to be struck down by some invisible force.

Less than thirty seconds had passed when the last of the creatures was thrown to the bloody sands with his head barely still attached to the neck. Much of Denrak Jin's sharkhide outfit had been yanked apart or slashed by claws and fangs. Her exposed pale skin was covered with gouges and scrapes, but she laughed out loud and whirled her sticky weapon overhead. "A daughter of Ulgor has walked among you this day! May Margoth burn your souls in his iron hands."

Bane was breathing heavily, something so rare for him as to show how much effort he had put into the slaughter. His black clothing also hung in strips and tatters to reveal the grey silk sheen of the flexible Trom Armor beneath. A long wound down his right cheek was
dripping and he swabbed the back of one hand to it gingerly.

Jin calmed down as the bloodlust subsided. "Human I am not and never was," she said. "That did me good. How are you, captain?"

"We did what had to be done," Bane replied as he bent over to clean his silver daggers on a dead Tigerman's shirt before sheathing them. "It won't bring Megan back, of course, but at least these creatures won't be spreading out across the world." He straightened up again and pointed past his teammate. "But I don't think we're done yet."

Demrak Jin spat on the sand and brandished the walrus-bone blade. "I don't see any threat. Let her get closer. Captain, your plan worked perfectly. While all eyes were on you and our helicopter, I was able to run up from the sea and come around behind that Shogren man. I guarantee he never felt me strike him down."

"Good," Bane replied absently. A young woman with curly black hair was walking slowly toward them. In her jeans and snug sweater, she was clearly not carrying any guns. Long decades of training and experience read her body language to help Bane decide this woman had no intention of attacking.

She raised both open hands, palms forward. "Easy. Easy. I guess there's no use trying to run for it. The two of you move faster than I ever could. I'm surrendering."

"Name?" Just the single word from Bane.

"Glynis, Glynis Winstead. I was the Baron's assistant. I handled his mail and bookkeeping, typed up his journal entries, all that."

The Dire Wolf was glaring at her suspiciously, saying nothing further for a long moment. "I don't sense any tiger essence in you. You don't move the way they do. But we need to do some scans. I don't dare let one of you escape."

"You'll find I'm two months pregnant," she said. "And the father was the first Tigerman. Baron Shogren thinks.. or thought.. that my child will be Tiger Nation, too. We were going to start breeding our kind as fast as possible."

"Easy enough to stop that right now," Demrak Jin growled as she stepped over a corpse toward the woman.

"Oh God, you wouldn't kill a pregnant woman?" Winstead yelped as she saw the ruthless smile on the Gelydra's face.

"Jin, stand down. Don't touch her, that's a direct order." Bane was scowling as he watched the woman. "I can't approve of either of us killing you. That's simply crossing one line too many. But then, I can't let you go either. And I don't want to turn you over to the authorities."

Still eyeing Winstead eagerly, swinging her sword back and forth, Demrak Jin said, "She IS a problem."

Bane finally exhaled wearily. "All right. Here's what we'll do. You're our prisoner, on our authority as Tel Shai knights. You'll be kept at one of our outposts until your baby is safely born. Then, I think we will relocate you to Okali. Think of it as a very distant land with no way back here. Okali is packed with different predators. You and your tiger child will be protected by some of the natives there until your child is big enough to survive."

"What? No. I want a lawyer. You have to hand me over to the police, I have rights."

The Dire Wolf shook his head. "You're not in the legal system now. You and other Tiger Nation people have already claimed at least a dozen innocent lives, and you intended to breed until you'd threaten the Human race worldwide. We're leaving you with your life, which is sure more than you'd do for us."

Winstead glanced over at Demrak Jin's bloodthirsty face, at the gruesome array of hacked up bodies all around her, then into the pale unforgiving eyes of the Dire Wolf. "I guess I don't have any choice, do I?"

"No," snapped Bane as anger escaped his self-control. "I only hope sparing you doesn't turn out to bite us in return. You tiger people may end up taking over Okali as the new apex predator."

4/16/2022

"Silk and Stone, Wood and Leather and Iron"

12/17/2013

I.

From one hundred feet up, Haley lessened the tornado winds which were propelling her through the sky. She lowered her legs, stretched her arms out to either side for balance and dropped toward her friends who were staring up with trepidation. Too fast. The Windcatcher cloak flipped around to cover her head and cut off her vision; she dropped down to slam hard into Timothy and Demrak Jin, tumbling all three of them end over end across the meadow. The frozen earth did not make the impact less punishing.

"Will you PLEASE pay attention!" shouted Timothy Limbo. He had ended up on the bottom of the heap, stretched out on his back with Haley sitting up near the top of his chest and Jin sprawled over his legs. The small Gelydran woman sputtered incoherently as she disentangled herself from Tim and Haley.

Getting the heavy blue cloak straightened out, Haley grinned down at her new KDF teammate. "Be honest, Tim. Back in school, lots of guys would have absolutely loved to have me sitting on them like this."

It was true. At eighteen, Haley Lawson was cute rather than gorgeous, tall and slender with trim long legs in blue tights. Her best feature was the pair of bright lime-green eyes under auburn bangs. She showed no inclination to get up off Tim.

For her own part, Demrak Jin was bristling with outrage. The Gelydra was only a few inches over five feet tall but wiry and lithe. She wore her Race's customary long-sleeved tunic and pants of abrasive grey shark-hide and had her bone-bladed long knife sheathed across her back. "You do not take seriously the great gift you have been given." she spat. "Perhaps you do not deserve the Air Gem."

Finally climbing up onto her feet, brushing back to tangling long hair from her face, Haley said, "Ease up, Sharkie. So I misjudged my approach a little. I knew my pals would be glad to catch me."

"Sharkie...!?"

"Come on, you guys, settle down." Timothy Limbo alone of the three partners had on the KDF field suit they were supposed to wear on missions to the other realms. The heavy boots, pants and waist-length jacket were not only made of tough protective material, they held a dozen small tools and gadgets in concealed pockets. Timothy stood up, tugging down his jacket where it had become twisted around, and gestured at the vast green expanse that reached down the hill where they stood. "We've got some hiking to do before it gets dark. Better get to it. We only have forty-eight hours here in Signarm before we zap back to the real world."

Haley began, "Why walk? This realm has got some great storms to the far north, I can sense them. Let me summon some two hundred mile per hour winds and I can fly us to this town where we're supposed to go..."

"No." The single word from the Gelydra carried immense conviction. In the late afternoon sunlight from a cloudless sky, Demrak Jin did look intimidating. In a wide flat face under bristling white hair, her eyes were sullen. Her people of Ulgor believed that each of them was born at the same time a shark was, and that the ferocious shark spirit lived in their hearts. Haley's attempts at nicknaming Jin "Sharkie" were not far off the mark.

Windcatcher wilted a little at the cold stare she was getting. "Oh, all right. I suppose walking gives us time to review this mission." She started leading the way at a brisk stride. "Now, let's start with we're in the northwest region of Signarm. It's called Barodal, kind of rustic and uninvolved in what the Barons and the King are up to."

"You are accurate so far," Jin admitted grudgingly as she trudged along behind her two mates. "What more can you say?"

"Well, it's farmland mostly. Wheat, tobacco, some corn. A lot of small villages but no towns big enough to really be called a city. The Barodalin are supposed to be pretty comfy here with lots to eat and their own homemade corn liquor to drink. If you go south, the Barons are always ganging up on each other in vicious little wars, but up here things are quieter."

"You have to admit, Haley was paying attention at our briefing." Timothy Limbo had slightly taken the lead as the slope slanted down more steeply. Coming into sight was a narrow river that sparkled silver in the sunlight, and wooden buildings could be made out along its bank. "We have a few observers here. That was Jeremy's doing, of course. When he was KDF leader, he tried to have some locals on retainer in every realm. They let us know if anything weird and ominous happens."

"Weird and ominous is what we're all about!" laughed Haley.

"Yep, true enough. Sable got a message from one of our observers here. Some of the farmers have been hurt by mysterious intruders. No fatalities so far, but broken arms and severe bruising are no joke. Houses have been ransacked and supplies like food and firewood stolen. And inhuman figures have been seen, running through the night."

"It's the sightings of these monsters that worry me," Haley put in. "Moving statues! Moving statues of iron and granite, smashing down doors and paying no attention to the pitchforks or shovels getting broken on them. Kind of a scary image, no wonder the rednecks of this realm are spooked."

"These creatures have not met US yet," Demrak Jin said.

( the rest of the story )

CORONET III: Lightning's Only Happy When It Strikes


6/2022

I.

Five armed guards escorted Josef Jubilec from the lobby into the elevator and then out to a hallway on the fifty-first and top floor of the office building at 156 West 82nd Street. The men wore black slacks and light blue shirts with the logo CRAMER SECURITY over the left breast pocket, and each carried a .45 Colt revolver in a holster on a separate Sam Browne belt. The guards were all burly, intimidating men but even they seemed uneasy around one of the dreaded Blind Archers.

Josef was used to this reaction and had come to expect it. He wore a dark brown business suit of conservative cut, complete with a tan shirt and brown tie and co-ordinated vest. A lifetime spent drawing longbows had given him a massive chest and brawny arms which the suit could not conceal. Short sandy blond hair topped a bony face with bleak, dark blue eyes which gave away nothing of what he thought. The Blind Archers were raised from infancy to keep poker faces no matter what. Assassins were wise to keep their intentions secret.

They waited for a few seconds before an unmarked green metal door buzzed. One of the guards held the door open for Josef, who passed through without comment into a bare cubicle of white tile. Only a massive steel door broke the gleaming walls. None of the guards entered the cubicle, they all stepped back as the outer door closed and locked with a decisive click.

The Blind Archer stood motionless, patient as a born hunter. He could not spot any of the cameras that he knew must be scrutinizing him at that moment. Then the inner door opened silently and a huge bruiser in one of the security uniforms peered out at him. At a gesture from the guard, Josef squeezed past him into an old-fashioned office with many bookshelves, deep plush carpeting and substantial easy chairs. From behind a paper-strewn desk, an old man half rose politely and gestured for him to be seated.

Although the Alchemist looked to be in his well-preserved late sixties, closer study showed the thin dry skin of the face was covered with a maze of fine wrinkles. The receding snowy hair was still thick, even the bushy eyebrows were solid white, lowering over shrewd blue eyes. That tailored suit fit the wiry body perfectly. "Mr Jubilec. Knights of your Order of Tel Shai are not known for paying social calls on members of my community. You have some business proposition, perhaps?"

"I am here to offer information you should find useful," Josef replied. He had from his teen years been able to put any accent he wanted into his voice, and now he slightly mimicked a Sicilian tinge. "But first, understand I do not subscribe to the cliche about the enemy of my enemy being my friend."

"As world wars have shown, even bitter enemies can form alliances of convenience," the old man immediately responded. "Temporary alliances, of course."

"Exactly. There is no misunderstanding between us. Let me mention that one hundred and thirty miles north of where we sit are the Catskill Mountains. There, the Spinner of Webs is indeed spinning her webs and thinks she is secure..."


( the rest of the story )

"CORONET I: Falling Into the Sky"

6/22/2022


I.

Two uniformed officers were waiting on the scene when the cherry-red Jeep Cherokee pulled up to a stop at the farther edge of the parking lot. Yellow warning tape formed an open rectangle ten feet on its longer sides but the body it had surrounded had already been taken away. Cars going by on the side street slowed slightly as drivers caught sight of the cops and the tape, but there was nothing visible to keep their attention. On a muggy overcast day where a thunderstorm seemed imminent, people were focused mostly on getting home.

Two wildly mismatched men climbed out of the Jeep. Straightening up from behind the wheel, Archie McAllister was a massive bearlike figure in rough work boots, trousers and red flannel shirt with the cuffs rolled up. Six inches shorter and a hundred pounds lighter was Timothy Limbo. In his biker boots, well-worn jeans and black leather jacket over a plain white T-shirt, he might as well have been wearing a uniform of sorts.

"Hi, Morrissey," Timothy called as they approached. "Thanks for calling us in on this one."

"Tim! Yeah, Detective Beckert had to go, he's juggling more than one mess right now, but he knew you'd be interested in this." The officer nodded at Archie. "Seems I recollect meeting you as well, sir."

Archie McAllister grumbled something unintelligible but polite enough sounding. Big and imposing as he was, in the round, unshaven face the gentle blue eyes belied his true nature.

"Right off the bat, one question comes to mind," Timothy began, circling the taped-off area. "This is where the body of Lionel Groeters was found, face down, arms and legs full extended, right?"

"Yep. After the forensics boys scraped up as much residue as they could, the asphalt was water blasted but that stain is gonna be there for a while," the cop volunteered.

"From what I was told on the way over, Groeters looked as if he had fallen from a minimum height of one hundred and fifty feet. Impact deformation was classic, your CSI team said. But the buildings in this clinic are only two stories high. At the most, he couldn't have fallen more than twenty feet if he had dived off a roof after a running start." Timothy scratched at the back of his neck beneath the lank yellow hair. "Hard to figure, you know?"

Archie turned slowly around, scanning the nearby buildings. "If it wasn't for the blood on the ground, I'd suggest that he fell somewhere else and was brought here after he was already dead. But that's out. You say your experts think he fell a hundred and fifty feet at the most, so he wasn't pushed out of an airplane or helicopter, you'd have a hundred witnesses."

"Puzzling, right?" asked the cop. "Sounds like some of that Midnight War craziness you guys handle." He handed a tablet to Timothy. "You realize we can not show any crime scene photos to civilians, not even KDF members who have been helping out for years and years."

With Archie looming up behind him, Timothy Limbo studied the gruesome images before handing the Ipad back. "Unofficially and off the record, denying everything, I see only one suggestive item. The victim was dressed for the office. Polished shoes, pressed slacks, neat white shirt and you can see the end of a necktie up by his shoulder. But no jacket. It may not mean anything but I've seen murder cases solved by smaller clues."

"Could be. Well, me and Tompkins are supposed to report back now. Good seeing you guys again. I know lots of men wearing a shield resent you KDF as vigilantes and loose cannons, but personally I've seen you clear up some awful atrocities. Good luck."

"Thanks again," Timothy said, watching as the officers eased out into traffic.

Archie McAllister was pacing around the taped off area, big hands jammed into his trouser pockets. "Honestly, I'm going to be completely useless on this. Megan was the genius. On all those 'Trom Girl mysteries,' I listened to her rattle off solutions and maybe once in a while I threw a punch."

"Heck, I don't claim to be nearly as smart as she was, Archie. Who is? But you've had ten years experience on those cases, so any suggestions you come up with are welcome. Besides, you're good company and I hate driving in rush hour traffic." The KDF member stared up at the sky again. "You know, I can't quite remember the details but I think Sheng fought a crook who might be connected with this, maybe a year ago. It's far fetched but worth checking out. We never found out his real name, he was known as the Flying Fool."

"That's goofy. And you think maybe he was the one who dropped that poor guy out of the sky?"

"Worse than that," Timothy said, "I think first he made Lionel Groeters fall up INTO the sky."

( the rest of the story )

"Oahu Fifty-Nine"

11/20/2016

I.

When the rough burlap sack was pulled off his head, Timothy Limbo tried not to react. In an instant, he took in the situation. He was tied at the wrists and ankles to a substantial metal chair that was bolted to the floor. The room was illuminated by a chilly blue light that came from indirect panels high up by the ceiling, and the walls were completely covered by sound-absorbing acoustic tiles.

He wasn't in pain anywhere. He hadn't been softened up or beaten at all, and the lack of hunger suggested he had not been unconscious for long. The last he remembered clearly had been hearing an odd scratching noise outside the door of his suite at the Royal Queen Hotel near the Barbers Point Naval Air Station. Tim remembered being suspicious and crouching down near the door to listen, then suffering a sudden dizziness.

And here he was. His best guess was that some sort of knockout gas had been sprayed under the door and he had inhaled a snootful. That gave him some wry amusement, considering how often his KDF team had used anesthetic vapor.

Timothy had been staying at an Airbnb for eighty dollars a night because he was cheap. The room had no balcony overlooking Waikiki Beach and no champagne in iced buckets from room service but he was happy with a clean dry bed and a working bathroom. He didn't ask for much.

Walking around from behind him came a tall young Asian woman. She was wearing dark blue slacks and a tan pullover with long sleeves. Fastened on the right side of her belt was a gold badge he didn't recognize. She tucked a stray lock of black hair back out of her face and gave him a cold appraising stare.

Timothy estimated she was twenty-four years old. Five feet ten, one hundred and twenty pounds, in excellent athletic condition. Judging by the facial bone structure and skin tones, he thought she was of Japanese ancestry but that wasn't his best area in analysis. Clipped to her belt behind a bony hip was a snub-nosed .38 Colt revolver and a smartphone was in a holding case on the other hip.

The woman did not seem inclined to speak. She stood with arms folded across her modest bust and stared at him coldly. Timothy gave her a pleasant smile but he did not begin the conversation either.

This stalemate might have gone on indefinitely but a section of the wall slid aside to reveal an opening. The door was not detectible when closed and the walls seemed unbroken. Standing in that opening was a trim athletic Asian man in his late twenties. He was wearing dark slacks, a short-sleeved white dress shirt and he had an identical gold badge clipped to his belt. As he strode into the room, an identical short-barreled revolver could be seen holstered at his right side as well.

The woman turned toward him expectantly, but it was the man who spoke first. "Thanks, Ahine. Well, mister, we've identified you."

"And who am I?" asked Timothy.

Reacting sourly to that flippant response, the man recited, "Timothy Jerome Lambert, aka Timothy Limbo. Born and raised in Westport, Connecticut. No military or arrest record. Since June of 2013, you have been listed as a full-time employee of the Kenneth Dred Foundation, a non-profit research organization investigating paranormal reports. Your address is given as 28 East 38th Street, New York City."

Timothy nodded. It was taking an effort of will not to start tugging at the straps which held him in the chair. "Now let me play," he said. "You're Hawaiian of Japanese descent, with traces of a Los Angeles accent that suggest you have not been living here more than five or six years. You injured your right knee recently. You are or were a member of the Honolulu Police Department, probably a detective. College-educated and well-read. The young lady there is a close blood relative, probably a first cousin... no, a younger sister. She has joined the police force recently. I would say she's barely past rookie stage...."

He broke off at the astonished expressions on their faces. The man consciously assumed a poker face and turned to his partner. "He's guessing."

"Not exactly," Tim said. "Some of it is basic observation and some is cold reading, that is, your eyes confirm or contradict my deductions. Look at her knuckles. She has been studying a hard style martial art for at least three years. Remembering the Japanese background, I'd go with karate. Shotokan?"

"Kyokushinkai-kan," she admitted, speaking for the first time. "Brian, he's good at this.'

The man she addressed as Brian scoffed. "It's less impressive than it seems. Carnival tricks. He watches his target's reactions and changes his guesses to match. You need to take your situation seriously, Mr Lambert."

"Am I being charged with anything?"

"We'll decide that."

Peering at the gold badges as they had gotten closer, he made out a large '1959', a eagle with both wings spread and numbers at the base... an 11 for the man and a 22 for the woman. "That's interesting," Timothy said, "1959... that was the year that Hawaii became a state, right?"

Brian and Ahine exchanged glances and left the room without explanation. When the door closed behind them, the walls seemed unbroken again.

Left in the chilly silent room with its blue glare, Timothy took a deep breath and looked down at himself. He was wearing the same excessively loud multi-color print shirt and khaki shorts as before, with flip-flops on his bare feet. He tensed his leg muscles and decided that the pockets in his shorts felt empty. That was no surprise.

He had not been wearing the silk-thin Trom armor because his plan had been to loiter about the beach with a thousand other tourists. For the same reason, he had been about to leave behind most of the gadgets and weapons KDF members carried. His Link, sunglasses, a bottle of water and a towel to sit on had made up his gear for the afternoon. So, he reflected, at least his captors would not be getting their hands on any of the advanced Trom-design devices he normally carried on him.

Waiting, figuring these people were trying to get his nerves on edge, Timothy decided not to summon one of his caspers. He was certainly being observed by several cameras, even though he couldn't find the lenses from where he was sitting. If somehow his friendly ghosts showed up on video, he would have a lot to explain.

As Timothy was mulling over the unexpected situation, the hidden door slid open again. This time, a man in his early thirties walked slowly in and fixed an openly hostile stare on Tim. This was a man of Irish or Scots ancestry with thick black hair and blue eyes in a rough-edged face. He was wearing dark slacks, a white shirt with the collar open and a black suit jacket which held the gold badge on the left breast pocket.

Coming right up in front of Tim, this man folded muscular arms and stood with feet well apart. The body language suggested challenge and anger. "Let's talk about mass murder. When you and your gang came here from the mainland two months ago, you left twenty-three dead bodies behind. One of them was Professor George Kimowaua of the University of Hawaii. And here you are again...."

( the )

"SPINNER OF WEBS I: The Battle-Axe Murders of Forlorn Corners"

3/8-3/9/2014

I.


They had driven through an impressive thunderstorm on the way to Forlorn Corners. At one point, even the admittedly stubborn Sable had felt it prudent to pull over to the side of the highway and wait for visibility to improve. Both women were wearing down-filled ski jackets because a snowstorm had been predicted; Jin's was solid black, Sable's was Royal blue with red trim on the collar and shoulders. As it turned out, a rise of only a few degrees in temperature had brought a rainstorm instead.

Sitting in the passenger seat of the rented Pathfinder, Demrak Jin had been grumpy and irritable the entire ride from the airport in Stearns County. The Gelydra was not good-natured at the best of times but she had been so gruff reacting to any attempts at conversation that finally Sable demanded, "Jin! What IS your problem today?"

The Gelydra was not more than three inches over five feet, thin to the point of seeming a bit frail despite the immense strength hidden in her dense body. Jin had a flat wide face with thin lips, a snub nose and cloudy blue eyes under a shock of bristly white hair that stood up by itself. Sitting with her arms folded the past hour, she took a deep breath and seemed to be getting hold of her tongue before she answered. "Nothing. Captain, I'm a Gelydra from Ulgor. This is how we are. When I try to be friendly and gentle, it takes an effort. You should know this by now."

They were in the town of Forlorn Corners now, population 828, going past a garage called Jack's Reliable Motors and a unisex barber shop and hair salon with THAT'S PERFECT written in blue script on the window. Sable pulled over near the curb. The town did not have parking meters, and at six o'clock on a Monday evening, almost everything seemed to be closed already.

Peering out through the windshield at the town, Lauren Sable Reilly decided to also choose her words carefully. "Jin," she said at last, "I can deal with that. At least you're being honest. But I have to say that Timothy or Haley may not understand and may take your snark personally."

The Gelydra sniffed. "I will try to get along with them, captain."

At thirty-five, Sable was attractive in a distinctive way, with straight black hair brushed back from a high forehead. Half Irish and half Cuban, she had an intriguing face that people felt immediately comfortable with. "Fair enough," she said. "We're on Main Street now. I don't think I will need to pull the maps up on my Link. Up there is the St Olaf Inn and Boarding House. Three blocks past that, we should find the Town Hall and Pastor Falkenborg is supposed to be waiting for us."

Staring out her window, Demrak Jin tried gamely to make conversation. "This is where Jeremy handled the Triceratops Killings, yes?"

"Yep. That was six years ago. He worked with a local PI named Gary Strickler but I looked online and found the man retired a few months ago. Apparently he broke a hip falling down some stairs and decided he was getting too old for the active life." She started up the Pathfinder, checked for non-existent traffic and eased out onto the street. The town hall was a two-story building with its own parking in the back, and lights were burning only on the ground floor.

"The people are chained with fear," Derak Jin grumbled as she got out of her seat belt and hopped down to the wet asphalt. "No one is outside."

"Well, there was a big thunderstorm just a few minutes ago." Sable came around the front of the rented car to join the Ulgoran. "And that looks like our host waiting for us."

Standing in the rectangle of yellow light from the open door was a short heavy man in a black suit with a white dress shirt. He was at least in his seventies, judging by the white hair over a wizened face. Although he carried a battered walking stick, he did not use it at all. The way he came down one step at a time while keeping one hand on the railing was a habit of seniors, but he moved quickly as a much younger man. "Hello there," he called out. The light glinted on eyeglasses hanging down low on his nose.

Sable waved cheerfully as they approached. "We came as soon as we could, Pastor. That was quite a downpour."

The old man laughed. "At least it melted the snow. Maybe Spring will finally arrive. You're Miss Reilly, I take it?"

"Please call me Sable, father. This is my teammate, Demrak Jin."

"Hello," Jin managed in a polite tone, although she did not offer to shake hands.

Pastor Falkenborg immediately assumed that the little blonde's name was 'Jen,' not Jin and that was how he pronounced it from then on. "Please come in. I'm afraid the Forlorn Corners Historical Society is only one room in the back, but I am so gratified that someone is finally looking into last week's Battleaxe Murders!"

( the rest of the story )

"When You See the Red Buffalo"

1/29-1/20/2015

I.

The bar called End of the Line was well named. It was fifteen miles away from the nearest town, and towns in Wyoming were far apart in the first place. Even here in the eastern part of the state, not that far from Cheyenne, there seemed to be nothing for mile after mile but the dark sky and the snowbound ground. The road leading to the bar had been plowed, but chest-high drifts lined the road so that Jocelyn felt almost as if she were driving down a narrow tunnel with only her headlights as illumination. Finally, the road widened to end in a round parking lot still covered with a layer of snow that had been packed down by tires.

Four big pick-up trucks, one Jeep and a snowmobile were parked in front of the bar. Yellow light spilled out through wide picture windows and racuous honkytonk music echoed into the frigid night air. The End of the Line was a two story building with an addition at one end that didn't match the original construction. Pulling into the lot, Jocelyn exhaled and relaxed after the long drive through winter back roads. "End of the Line is a damn good name," she said out loud.

Knowing what conditions were going to be, the Tel Shai knight was wearing the full field suit with its heavy boots, snug pants and waist-length jacket. She pulled on the gloves and sealed them to her jacket cuffs. Jocelyn Garimara had just turned thirty, a small thin woman with rich dark brown skin and glossy straight black hair. Most Americans were puzzled by her apparance and few guessed that she was an Australian Aborigine of the Matho tribe. The fact she had almost no accent remaining after a lifetime of travel added to her ambiguity. Jocelyn reached to the seat behind her and took the helmet sitting there, lowering it over her head and closing the visor. When she sealed the helmet to the high collar of her jacket, she was completely enclosed.

Getting out, she could not even feel the vicious wind that was making the snow swirl in little eddies around the parking lot. The light enhancers in her visor had cut in automatically but she didn't really need them at the moment. Jocelyn stood by her rented car, taking her time to study the situation. There was a truck with a plow parked by the side of the bar, but no other road she could spot. Anyone entering or leaving the area had to use the way she had just come.

Walking toward the door with its blue neon sign BEER ON TAP, she reflected wryly that many women might be a little uneasy going alone into a bar way out in the wilderness at two o'clock in the morning. But then, not many knew the reassurance of having the Red Spectre waiting inside them to be unleashed. She opened the door and stepped inside. At that blast of chill with her entrance, all heads turned. Jocelyn lifted her helmet off and smiled pleasantly at the twenty people in that overheated stuffy room. The smell of beer and sweat and cigarettes slapped her senses.

Behind the bar, a fat man with a handlebar mustache grinned happily at seeing her and wiped his hands on his apron. Three men at the bar and two men playing pool glanced up in curiosity, checked her out for a moment and then went back about their business. Jocelyn took a step into the room and saw something in one corner that stopped her where she stood.

Sitting behind a round table which was covered with empty beer bottles and loose money sat an enormous man. He must have been six foot six and wide enough that an ordinary man could stand hidden behind him, but his bulk was all well defined muscle. He was wearing a plain white T-shirt stretched taut over hard pectorals and biceps, jeans and boots. The man had a busty blonde woman sitting on his lap, ripping off pieces of a hot roast beef sandwich and feeding him one bite at a time. Standing behind him, leaning on him, was a second woman with curly dark hair that almost reached her waist. She was giggling in the giant's ear.

"Galvan..." Jocelyn grumbled to herself. "Of all people.."

The big man saw her and laughed out loud. White teeth flashed in a dark beard heavily flecked with grey. Galvan had a tan somehow, even in Wyoming in the winter, and his skin was almost the same hue as his curly hair. He chewed on another piece of the sandwich, then slapped his huge hands together in a dusting motion. To the dismay of the blonde, Galvan lifted her easily off his lap and put her to one side as if she were a kitten that had fallen asleep.

"Hey, hey, HEY," she protested. "What's this?"

"It breaks my heart but I must bid you both a fond farewell," Galvan told them as he rose, towering a foot taller than either of them. "I know this woman! I am sure she comes with a storm about to break right behind her."

As the Tel Shai knight approached, helmet held in the crook of her arm, she smiled at the flustered faces of the women being so unexpectedly dismissed. "Galvan. Of all people. I suspect we are both really here for the same reason."

"Luta-Tatanka," the big Melgar answered. "The Red Buffalo of Death."

( the rest of the story )